The Wandering Samurai and his Beloved General (BL)

It was the middle of the night, and most soldiers were resting, but a few caught sight of Haruki. He seemed to skip multiple steps as he dashed toward the training grounds, leaving them rubbing their eyes in confusion. Was it their exhaustion playing tricks on them? Did Haruki just... fly?

There was really no time to ponder as the person in question disappeared like the wind.

The training grounds were simple—a vast, open field large enough to accommodate the entire army standing at attention. Its sheer size making it ideal for drills. Along the edges, racks of wooden weapons stood neatly arranged, accompanied by rolled mats ready for anyone to grab and use.

At the very center of the grounds, General Lanling moved like a phantom. His silver jian danced in the moonlight, a trail of white following each precise stroke. The blade glinted, catching the pale glow of the moon, every motion as fluid as a river yet sharp as a gale.

Finally, Haruki saw him up close—no heavy armor, just a cyan, flowing robe that moved with him like a second skin. Haruki's heart raced as though it were running a marathon.

Only now did Haruki realize just how good-looking his General truly was. It wasn't an ordinary kind of beauty—it was strange, almost contradictory. He looked like a scholar who had taken up a sword, yet wielded it with the lethal intent of a seasoned soldier. The contrast tugged mercilessly at Haruki's heartstrings.

The General stopped mid-movement, his sword poised, and his right foot resting lightly against his left leg. Tilting his head slightly, his tranquil voice carried effortlessly across the quiet night. "It's late. Why are you awake?"

Startled, Haruki instinctively rubbed his reddened ears, willing himself not to act foolish. "I couldn't sleep. Is the General willing to teach this soldier a bit? I'd like to learn a thing or two about your swordsmanship."

The words left his mouth before his brain could catch up.

You idiot! Haruki scolded himself internally. What if he calls for an instructor instead? And he's clearly using a jian, not a katana!

Mourning his apparent loss of intelligence, Haruki braced for rejection. Yet, somehow, his smile didn't falter. It seemed he'd half-accepted that he'd left his common sense behind in the tent.

General Lanling slowly lowered his stance and turned to face him. His gaze, as calm and steady as a still lake, bore into Haruki. It was the same gaze that he dreamed of for days and for a moment, Haruki's soul felt like it might leap out of his body. That piercing look—so serene yet commanding—sent an electrifying current through him.

Lanling's eyebrows lifted ever so faintly in interest. If Haruki hadn't been watching for even the slightest reaction, he might have missed it entirely. His mind spiraled in circles, trying to deduce what that subtle gesture could mean.

"Your steps are light, like air, and the winds seem to shape themselves around you," Lanling remarked, his voice carrying a note of curiosity. "Tell me, what have you done today?"

The tone of wonder in his words struck Haruki like lightning, leaving him momentarily dazed.

Hastily, he pulled himself together and recounted everything he had done during the day, from the mundane to the significant, all the way up to the moment he'd sprinted to the training grounds upon hearing his General was there.

Cautiously, he studied Lanling's face for any reaction. Yet that calm demeanor was so deeply entrenched, not a single ripple marred its surface.

But Haruki's spirits remained sky-high. I'm having a conversation with the General! he thought, his heart thundering in his chest. A real conversation! Like normal people!

The pedestal upon which he had placed Lanling seemed to dissolve in that instant. They were standing on the same ground, under the same sky, breathing the same air. For Haruki, it was the ultimate proof that his General wasn't as unreachable as he had once believed. He just needed to work harder to close the gap between them.

Lanling's gaze softened slightly, as if he had made a decision. With his left hand tucked neatly behind his back and his silver jian in his right, he beckoned to Haruki.

"Come. Spar with me," Lanling instructed. "The basics should have been part of your training today."

The "basics" he referred to were the foundational drills soldiers practiced daily, especially those at the lowest ranks. It was a structured exercise akin to martial artists' sparring, where both participants blocked and attacked with equal strength, fostering a tacit understanding. This particular variation incorporated weapons, making it ideal for adapting to different fighting styles.

Haruki's smile brightened like the rising sun as he obediently unsheathed his katana, taking a precise samurai stance.

General Lanling's army was unique in its approach to weaponry. While all soldiers were taught the fundamentals of spear combat, they were encouraged to train with their weapon of choice, fostering a diverse array of skills within the ranks. This made it easy for Haruki to find a katana instructor, although his progress up until recently had been less than stellar.

For three years, Haruki had drifted through life with minimal effort, learning just enough to scrape by. It wasn't a lack of talent—he picked up techniques quickly when he tried—but a lack of motivation. Now, however, everything had changed. These past five days had been his most productive since he awoke from that damp cave. His basics were still rough, but he'd laid a foundation he could build upon.

Haruki lunged at Lanling without hesitation, his katana slashing downward in a swift arc. The thought of injuring the General didn't even cross his mind—it was impossible in his eyes. His strike was met effortlessly by Lanling's silver jian.

Undeterred, Haruki transitioned seamlessly into another strike, and another, his movements flowing like water. The sharp clang of metal against metal echoed across the training grounds.

Lanling parried each attack with an almost lazy grace, stepping lightly to the left or right as needed. His movements were minimal yet precise, an elegant display of mastery.

"You can move faster," Lanling said, his voice calm but commanding.

Haruki blinked, momentarily shaken from his trance.

"Okay!" he replied without hesitation. He didn't pause to question how he could possibly go faster—his body simply responded. His strikes quickened, each one heavier than the last, the force behind his blade growing with each swing.

Haruki wasn't thinking anymore. He wasn't analyzing or strategizing. His mind was blank, consumed by a single, instinctual desire: faster.

The air around them shifted, as though responding to his silent plea. Winds began to swirl, tugging at their clothes and hair. Lanling's eyes glowed with an intense, otherworldly white light as faint sparks of lightning crackled in the air around them.

Their sparring escalated into something surreal. They moved in streaks, their forms blurring as they dashed across the training grounds. The sharp, rhythmic clashes of their swords resounded like thunderclaps, each impact stirring the ground beneath their feet.